Through
the years I have managed to get through day by day without thinking of anything
related to the family. Yes, there were
times were certain things raised their ugly head but for the most part-I
managed to smile.
Now,
it was different. I have been seized by
the ghosts of Christmas past. Memories
of happier times bring tears to my eyes.
Those people no longer exist. I
wait for a glimmer of those ghosts to materialize but they do not. Sadly, those people have turned into greedy
selfish people. The only care they have
is the money-inheritance.
I
close my eyes to listen to the sounds as they play in my head. The laughter of everyone as they put things
together for Christmas; the grumbling of Dad as he examined each light bulb to
make sure it lit; the smells coming from the kitchen as holiday treats were
being baked or cooked; the smell of cinnamon in the air. I remember placing
“footprints” in the sand of the Nativity behind the figurines; Dad coming over
to smooth out the sand. The season was
really more his season than anyone I knew then.
What I most remember is the wonderful smell of the pine tree.
The
scene dissolves and another takes its place.
One of a snow covered valley with deer carefully making their way
across. It was a trip we had taken to
Utah. It was a very cold day; my
daughter was young-6 yrs old I think.
She ran out into the field and suddenly-she disappeared! My heart raced and I tried not to panic. The snow was soft still as it was fresh
fallen. It made running a little
difficult as you sank with each step. I
found the spot and I lay on the ground to reach her. She was down too far-the snow was deep. The fortunate thing was that there were some
skiers who had witnessed the fall into the snow; they arrived to help as tears
were falling down my face. I was in a
full blown panic. They pulled my
daughter out of that hole. I am forever
grateful to them.
Breathing
deeply, a certain memory comes up of five sisters walking in the mall. Three in high school and two in college-all
dressed alike. I remember thinking “We
must look like spoiled brats!” We all wore dark blue jeans, white shirts, white
tennis shoes and the ever present designer bags. We did not walk in a group but
rather in a line, people made way for us.
This memory is one of the few I have of my sisters. I smile as it was a good day.
Another
scene quickly takes its place. This time
it is my Mother-waiting for her children to arrive. She waited a long time-not too different from
the way Dad did in the year before his death.
The sounds of their crying between the looks they gave to the things
around them. I hated them then-now I
just pity them. As pictures fading with
time-they too faded away.
Where
did they go? What happened? I have no idea. The loss I am feeling is tremendous-a
bottomless abyss. A blanket of insurmountable
sadness wraps itself around me.
The
house is dark with no holiday lights, no wreath-no Christmas tree. Holiday music is not allowed to be played as
it only adds to the sadness; the bitterness in the air is tangible-thick. I am alone waiting for my turn to fade.
©MSM
DECEMBER 2013
